


Ends of the Earth

by fscotts



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with Fluff and Humor and Pain, I like angst so I write a lot of it, M/M, TRIGGER WARNINGS TO INFINITY AND BEYOND, Trumpocalypse AU, Welcome to the, but still kind of canon, but yeah just to be safe, is how long this is going to be, my friends and I came up with that, please don't laugh, this is going to be pretty DARK shit I can tell, what i can't tell however
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 11:46:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11417292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fscotts/pseuds/fscotts
Summary: AU where a Megalomaniac Orange Cheeto Man makes America not-so-great-again.





	1. sic incipit

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song Ends of The Earth by Lord Huron. Listen [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/7BjrIfovz8y9dTtazrh1iY)
> 
> I try to update as much as I can.

“So yes, we could kiss. I could kiss you and you could kiss me. There’s no science, plane ticket or clock stopping us. But if we kiss, it will end the world. And I’ve ended the world before. No one survived. Least of all me.” **\- Iain Thomas**

•••••••••••••••••••

**PROLOGUE: New York by Snow Patrol**  
**Before, Year 2017 ||**  New York City, New York

•••••••••••••••••••

_He wondered if anyone noticed he started smoking again._

_It was ten minutes past midnight. Normal people would be tucked into bed by now, sleeping soundly next to their spouses. Not him. He was standing outside some random dollar store, in the middle of the goddamn night, smoking another cigarette (his third), and waiting for his secret boyfriend to come and meet him._

_I have a secret boyfriend, Jon thought, tossing aside his finished cigarette before lighting up his fourth. He let himself contemplate the situation while he took one long drag, letting out a puff of thick, bilious grey smoke through his teeth and watched silently as it dispersed into the night air._

_He was breaking more than one vow tonight, it seemed._

_Thanks to his thickly grown beard and his general lack of any fashion sense, no one had recognized him yet. Good. Jon pulled his cap down anyway, lowering it just enough to cover his blue eyes. He scanned the streets for any sign of human life, but the place was completely deserted. Also good._

_He had a feeling he was going to be waiting a little while longer._

_Inside the store, the TV was replaying news coverage on that morning's protests. Video clips of people being shot indiscriminately by police were flashed on the screen, followed by photographs of the dead left lying on the street. Their bodies were strewn across the road, echoing the violence that had taken place in what was supposed to be a peaceful gathering. At least 30 were confirmed dead, and those who didn't manage to get away were arrested._

_Jon eyed the reports through the store window, watching Anderson Cooper relaying the facts with as much nonchalance as he could muster. It was a valiant effort on Anderson's part, to remain as calm as he did - though Jon knew for a fact that deep down, he was beyond tired and he was beyond angry at everything that was happening._

_They all were._

_"President Trump called today's protest a quote, 'terror attack' on the United States." Anderson said, eyes looking grim beneath his glasses. "This morning he tweeted: 'Anyone who goes against MY PRESIDENCY, is now OFFICIALLY branded as a TERRORIST and will be SHOT for TREASON! #MakeAmericaGreatAgain'. It still remains unclear whether or not the President meant it as a literal statement. However, official Whitehouse spokesperson, Sean Spicer, has declined to comment on the..."_

_Jon turned away, disgusted. More than half a year later and he still can't believe the words "Trump" and "president" were used seriously in the same sentence. He sighed wearily, exhaling a puff of smoke through his nose._

_Where are you, Stephen? He found himself thinking. The world is falling apart and you're still not here. You promised me you'd come._

_As if on cue, a taxi emerged from the corner and rolled up right in front of him. Jon knew who its passenger was before it even came to a full stop._  
_He hastily flicked his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with his foot. The sound of his shoe grating against the pavement seemed to echo around the empty sidewalk, and the air still smelled faintly of smoke._

_How many more secrets, Stewart?_

_Stephen got out of the cab and, without warning, threw his arms around Jon and clung to him like a child. When the initial shock of having Stephen so openly affectionate wore off, Jon found himself clinging back, head pressed against Stephen's shoulder, fingers clenched around his waist. Holding. Grasping. Keeping._

_"Don't die." Stephen blurted out, making Jon freeze. Stephen immediately pulled away and gripped Jon by the shoulders, looking at him with red, puffy eyes. "Please, Jon. Don't ever die."_

_"Stephen-"_

_"Promise me." Stephen's grip tightened. "Promise me that no matter what happens, you'll stay alive."_

_He'd been crying, Jon noted, his hand trailing alongside the hollow of Stephen's cheek. Up close, his brown eyes glistened beneath the yellow streetlights, turning them into an alluring, molten gold. Without thinking of a response, Jon leaned in and kissed him. Right there, out in the open. On the goddamn sidewalk in front of the goddamn dollar store, not caring if anyone could see them._

_Fuck secrets, he thought._

_Later, in some dingy motel room they just happened to chance by, Stephen spread his legs open and guided Jon inside him. The shades were drawn shut and the cheap mattress squeaked beneath their weight. Stephen was looking up at him, eyes wide and expectant, letting out a soft sigh as Jon entered him completely._

_"I'm awfully fond of you." he said with half a gasp, reaching up to push Jon's hair away from his face. "It would suck to lose you. Promise me you won't ever die."_

_Jon allowed himself to hold Stephen's gaze, which was full of warmth and love, and then thrusted his hips forward, without warning, just so he could see that beautiful face writhing in pleasure._

_"I promise I won't die." Jon whispered, bending down to kiss him. Stephen's lips felt so warm and supple against his own. "I'm going to find a way to make myself immortal, so I can always have you. Kiss you. Hold you. Be inside you. Just like this. Forever."_

_Stephen smiled. "Even when we're old and sex becomes a health hazard?"_

_Jon chuckled and kissed him again. "Especially when we're so fucking ancient and prone to sex related injuries." He felt the rumble of Stephen's laughter, deep and sonorous, reverberating back to him. The sound of it made his heart hitch in his chest. "I'm awfully fond of you too, you know."_

_They made slow and lazy love then. For the first time in many months. No work. No wives. No world falling apart. Just that tiny motel room and that creaky bed and the two of them, naked and sprawled on top of the cream colored sheets, looking like hedonistic gods pulled straight out of an allegory._

_"You have to promise me something too, though." Jon whispered in between thrusts. He had Stephen's hands pinned down on the mattress - their fingers laced tightly together - while his hips moved at an excruciatingly languid pace._

_"Yes. Anything. Ah! I'll - I'll promise you anything."_

_Jon squeezed his fingers and trailed a kiss from Stephen's cheek down to his good ear. He rammed his hips in once, a little harder than before, which summoned a low moan out from the both of them._

_"Promise me you'll never leave."_

_Stephen groaned and nodded, cheeks flushed red as he swelled and ripened with each quickening shove._

_"Say it." Jon half growled, going deeper and harder, sweat slipping down past his jaw. "I want you to say it. Out loud."_

_"I'll - ah! I'll - never - I'll never leave you."_

_As soon as he heard those words, Jon allowed himself to come with a wordless moan. And not long after, Stephen followed suit - head tossed back, eyes fluttering shut - with Jon's name screamed out of his mouth like a declaration and a release._

_I'll never leave you._

_Jon always expected he would break his promise eventually._

_But he never would have thought, not in a million years, that Stephen would break his._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this at 2 in the morning, if you're wondering why it's crap lmao
> 
> (will probably be posting the rest of it soon, maybe when my perfectionism stops biting me in the ass)


	2. Sorrow, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting way too long so I divided it into two parts.
> 
> Listen [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/5UXW4T4W80gThrchHR1Mgt).

“Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.”  
**\- Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore**

•••••••••••••••••••

**CHAPTER ONE: Sorrow by The National**   
**After, Year 2018 ||**  Bisbee, Arizona

•••••••••••••••••••

  
The three sharp knocks at his door startle him.

Jon stops packing and turns around, briefly, to stare out of his window. The first thing he sees is the incessant flickering of light out in the distance – bright and yellow against the backdrop of the night sky. It seems to pulsate in the darkness, the light, growing larger and glowing brighter the longer he keeps looking at it. When he squints his eyes, he can make out the tips of the flames peeking out from under the trees, swaying tauntingly in the wind. His heart stops.

_Fire_.

There was no mistaking it.

He watches it move down from the hillside and towards the town, the flames rapidly gaining momentum as it burns through dry wood and tumbleweed with impeccable ease. Clouds of dark gray smoke follow close behind, billowing through the trees and the grass like the Angel of Death come to take them all, leaving only trails of burnt rock and ash in its wake.

The door behind him swings open, and Jon recoils back against the wall.

"Holy fucking shit." Jon gasps, leaning forward to clutch his chest. His heart was pounding like crazy. " _Denis_. _What the fuck_. You scared the fucking bejeezus out of me."

Denis Leary ignores him and trudges towards the window, eyes focused on the unfolding spectacle outside. He thrusts his hands deep into the pockets of his worn leather jacket, muttering a series of cuss words under his breath that sounded remotely Gaelic.

When he turns back around to Jon, his face is almost as red as his hair. "We have to get out of here." he says. " _Right_. _Now_."

He doesn't wait for Jon's permission to stuff the rest of his clothes into the suitcase. Grey shirts, khakis, more grey shirts. He grabs at them haphazardly without even bothering to fold them.

"Where are we going?" Jon asks, hurriedly grabbing his shoes from under the bed. He puts them on as fast as he can, forgetting to wear socks in the process.

"North." Denis answers, pushing down the contents of Jon's suitcase, making room for all the other stuff he’s shoving in. "Up north. Chicago. I heard some guys down at the market talking about this underground resistance group. Says they're gathering in Chicago. And they’re looking for anyone who’d be willing to join them. Fighters, writers, commentators. Whatever." Denis shoves the suitcase towards him. “I set up a meeting with them. Supposed to meet up tonight, get us a ride over there – but – yeah, obviously that whole plan’s been blown out of the fucking water. _Christ_. Some fucker probably overheard the conversation and ratted us out.”

“Resistance group?” Jon gets hopeful despite himself. “You mean to say –"

“That we’re finally fighting back?” Denis smiles for the first time in six months. “Hell yeah we are.”

Jon can’t help the surge of emotion that suddenly overwhelms him. _Resistance group? Fighting back?_ After months of running and hiding and trying not to get caught, the very thought of an opposition – an actual group of people willing to fight for their freedom – stirs up a fragment of hope he thought he’d lost a long time ago.

_We’re going to live_ , he finds himself thinking. Over and over again. _We’re going to live._

"There was another thing though." Denis says, a little hesitant. He's eyeing Jon carefully, like Jon were some child about to burst into tears by what he was about to say. "Something I overhead at the market."

"What thing?"

Denis considers him for a moment, opening his mouth as if to say something, but then quickly closes it - as though he thought better of it.

“What is it?” Jon asks, his body suddenly tense. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Denis waves his hand dismissively. “It's nothing. Forget it. Come on, we have to get going.” He makes a grab for Jon’s suitcase, but Jon – being closer – beats him to it. They both stare at each other in silence.

“ _Denis_.” Jon steps forward, setting the suitcase down on the bed before crossing his arms over his chest. He knows he’s being unreasonable. He knows they really should get going – there’s a fire headed right at them, for Chrissake – but something is tugging at his heartstrings, planting his feet firmly to the ground. He doesn't move. “You’re not telling me something. Why?”

"Jon, we don't have time -"

"Then stop wasting time and just _say it_." Jon snaps. "What did you hear?"

"I can't believe I forgot how fucking stubborn you are." Denis groans. "Really-"

" _Denis_."

" _All right._ Jesus!" Denis sighs and throws his hands up in defeat. His face was getting red again. "You really wanna know? _Fine._ " He jabs his finger against Jon's chest. "I'll tell you. But you're not gonna like it. So you better not get mad at me if you don't like what you hear, okay? It's about - "

He stops.

" _What_?" Jon stares at him, mouth open, feeling both confused and incensed. "It's about _what_ , Denis? _What is it_?"

Denis doesn't move or speak.

"Unbelievable." Jon says, almost laughing. "Un. Be. Lieve. Able. We've been holed up together for six months and the one time -"

"Get out."

Jon gapes at him. "What the fuck are y-"

" _Get out of the way_!"

There's a split second where Denis lunges for him, pushing him down to the ground and out of harms way, just as a large ball of fire breaks through the glass window, filling the entire room with intense, scorching heat, and a few seconds later - the world explodes around them.

*****

_"I started smoking again." Jon said, mouth half full with bagel. "I mean, it's not like it's a big deal or anything. I just thought you should know."_

_Stephen's mouth twitched. He took a bite of his sandwich – a regular PB &J that Evie hastily put together for him that morning – but said nothing. Jon's eyes narrowed ever so slightly._

_"What?" he demanded._

_"Nothing." Stephen said with a dismissive shrug, chewing his sandwich carefully. "It just took you long enough. To fess up about it, I mean."_

_Jon swallowed his bagel and propped his elbows up over their table, eyes widened. "Hang on a second. You knew?"_

_Stephen looked genuinely surprised. "How can I not know?" he said, scrunching his nose up in fake disgust. "You smell and taste like cigarettes."_

_Jon blushed, suddenly ashamed. "I'm sorry."_

_"Please," Stephen waved his hand like he were swatting away annoying flies. "don't be sorry. It's been a rough couple of months." He reached over the table and gently squeezed Jon's hand – a gesture they've done so often that people have come to dismiss it as just another JonAndStephen thing. "Besides, it's not like this is a new thing. You've smoked before. And you smoked a lot. Several times in my presence, in fact, so I can safely say that I've had some prior experience. Although, I will argue that at the time, we weren't sleeping with each other. So that's new. But I'm sure I'll get used to that too." He sighed dramatically, brown eyes glinting with mischief beneath those glasses. "I just have one question, though."_

_"Shoot."_

_"Does having sex with you count as secondhand smoking?"_

_Jon put his bagel down and laughed._

*****

Jon coughs and slowly opens his eyes.

The first thing he sees are the stars. High up in the sky. Looking down at him. Twinkling.

He has five seconds to wonder if he's dead before his nerves start to wake up, and the pain hits him all at once.

_Ah. Fuck._

His head throbs and the rest of his body aches. Any sort of movement, no matter how tiny and irrelevant, sends waves of sharp, excruciating pain all throughout his tiny frame. When he tries to breath, his throat burns with every passage of air, as though his lungs had been set on fire.

_At least I'm alive,_ he thinks glumly _. For now._

The building he'd been standing in only a few seconds ago had been reduced to nothing more than dust and rubble. Around him, pieces of broken cement and wood lay in indistinguishable heaps, the fire still crackling as it burned through whatever remained. He lets out a groan.

_Okay, Jon. You really need to get up now._

Slowly, he hauls off a large piece of wood that's crushing his leg, wincing in pain as the pressure is relieved and he feels it throbbing like hell. _Ow, fuck. Yep. That's definitely broken._ He waits for the pain to dull down before crawling his way out, teeth clenched together, fingers digging into the dirt. He finds his suitcase - surprisingly still in one piece - sitting atop what used to be his bed. He reaches for it with shaky fingers and drags it along with him.

He looks around for any sign of Denis, but finds that he's alone. He panics.

"D – Denis?" he groans hoarsely, eyes searching frantically through the wreckage. He knows he shouldn't shout, but he can't stop himself. "Denis? _Denis_!”

He's answered by a low moan.

“Denis?”

Someone coughs. “Yeah?”

_Oh thank god_. “Where are you?” Jon calls, nearly yelping when he tries to lift himself up. His right leg hurt like a _bitch_. “Tell me where you are and I’ll get to you.”

“I’m under all this rubble.” Denis says. “The one with the giant piece of destroyed house.”

Jon follows his voice, navigating steadily through the maze of burnt wood and rubble, and soon enough, he finds him.

Denis is lying flat on his back, his entire body almost completely buried under debris. On one side of his face, there's a huge gash that trailed down from his temple to his cheek. Yet when he sees Jon approaching, he grins.

“Hey. You found me." he says, lifting his right hand - the only part of his body besides his head that was spared of being crushed - up for Jon to hold. “Hold my hand, will you?”

“We’re getting you out of here.” Jon whispers, clasping his friend’s hand anyway. “You hear me, Denis? I’ll get you out.”

Denis lifts his head up and looks at Jon’s leg. He chuckles weakly. “Not in the state you’re in. You can barely walk.”

Jon grips his hand tighter. “Then I’m staying here. Until someone comes to help.”

“You know as well as I do that help isn’t going to come.” Denis mutters darkly. “Leave me here. Get yourself out, Jon.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

"If you go now, you could make it into the woods before the Trackers come." Denis continues, pretending not to hear him. "It's perfect. It's so big and dark in there, and you're so _small_ they'll never find you even if -"

"Denis. I'm not _fucking_ leaving you."

“ _You don’t have a fucking choice_.” Denis hisses, glaring at him. "You have to leave me. You have to get out of here, reach Chicago somehow, hook up with the Resistance people. It's the only way -"

Jon shakes his head. "I'm not going anywhere unless you're coming with me." he says firmly. "You and me at the end of the world, remember?"

Denis actually rolls his eyes. "You are _not_ pulling that melodramatic bullshit on me right now." he moans. "God. If I wasn't stuck under all this crap, I'd punch you in the face. I swear."

Jon manages a small smile. "Can you move at all?" he asks. "Maybe you could wriggle free if -"

Denis shakes his head. "No, I can't - I can't feel anything down there it's -" he exhales sharply. "It's no _use_ , Jon. Look at me. I can't move. I'm stuck. Just - just get out of here, _please_."

He tries to pull his hand away from Jon’s, but he moves too quickly, making his body jerk and he yelps in pain. “ _Ah_ , fuck me that hurts like a mother-“

They hear footsteps approaching from the distance, and both of them freeze instantly.

Jon clasps tightly on Denis's hand, closing his eyes and praying for either a miracle or a swift, painless death.

“Denis Leary?” someone calls.

Both he and Denis let out a sigh of relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote and published this at 2 AM my time so if the formatting sucks i'm sorry lmao
> 
> (i also thought i had already published this two days ago but it turns out i didn't?? my bad. i'll update faster this time around i promise)


	3. Sorrow, Part 2

_“Let’s play a game.” Stephen said._

_Jon lifted his eyebrows and stared at him, amused but also intrigued._

_“What kind of game?” he asked._

_“Fuck, Marry, Kill.” Stephen announced, grinning widely when Jon started giggling. “Ready?”_

_Jon shrugged and sipped his coffee. “I’m not actually willing to play, but I doubt that’ll stop you.”_

_“Oh, you know me so well my dear.” Stephen clapped his hands together and leaned forward, staring Jon right in the face. His expression was both intense and unwavering. “Okay! Here we go. Fuck, Marry, Kill – Me, Bruce Springsteen, Denis Leary. Go.”_

_“Can’t I just marry all three of you and be done with it?”_

_Stephen shook his head. “Nuh-uh. That’s cheating. You have to fuck one, marry one, and kill one. Those are the rules. Fair warning though, if you do choose to kill me, that would automatically revoke your access to my pants. But no pressure.”_

_Jon laughed and covered his face with his hands. “Oh god.” He groaned, running his fingers through his hair, tugging anxiously on the strands. “Um, okay. Let’s see… Fuck Bruce Springsteen – because I’d like to try it, even if it's just once. Marry you, of course. Because I’m sort of fond of you and I would also like to fuck you, but on a more regular basis.” At that, Stephen laughed. “And then,” Jon sighed, defeated. “Kill Denis. Because I don’t have a choice.”_

_“Aw. Poor Denis.” Stephen said. “I can’t believe you’d kill him.”_

_Jon sighed and leaned toward him, taking Stephen's hand into his own. “Well, I didn’t have a lot of options. If I had, I wouldn’t have killed him.”_

_“You’d have saved him?”_

_Jon nodded and closed the space between them. "Yes, I would have saved him."_

_Stephen smiled against his lips. "You're a good friend."_

***

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph - just fucking _kill_ me already." Denis howls. "Oh god -"

Jon watches in quiet distress as Denis is dragged out from under the debris by a man wearing a Guy Fawkes mask.

 _This should be ridiculous_ , Jon thinks. _Under normal circumstances, a man walking around wearing that mask should be ridiculous. But, god, it's not ridiculous. It actually makes sense._

"We're almost there." says the man. "Just one more tug and you're out. Come on."

"Ah, fuck. But it _hurts_."

"One. More. Tug." the man grunts. "I promise."

He grabs hold of Denis's leather jacket, fingers clasped tightly onto the fabric, and, in the count of three, hauls him out with one final yank. Pieces of the broken roof clatter to the ground.

"See?" the man exhales. "What did I tell you?"

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, it was one tug." Denis grumbles. "But it still _fucking hurt_."

Jon watches as the man drags Denis across the vacated street to the building he's currently propped up against, hands gripped protectively over his own injured leg. When Denis is set down next to him - eyes shut yet still cussing quite fluently in Gaelic - Jon catches the whiff of burnt hair and fabric that make his insides turn over.

"You need to help me." the man says to Jon, snapping him back to attention. "We have to get these clothes off. Do you understand?"

Jon nods.

"We have to do it carefully, though." the man adds. "We don't know what other injuries he might have."

"His legs -"

The man shakes his head, making the mask nearly teeter off his face. "They're not good. Fractured or broken, at least." He attempts to tug off Denis's pants, but the latter groans, low and pained. "Yeah, definitely not good. But we have to get his shirt off. As gently as possible."

When they peel back Denis's clothes, the injuries he had were far more severe than Jon had anticipated. Besides having most of his bones either broken or fractured, Denis also had several burns scattered all across his body, starting from the very top of his chest all the way down to his toes. His skin was so red and tender that even just looking at him was painful.

"What are you staring at?" Denis huffs, eyes suddenly open and locked on to Jon. " _What?_ Is it _that_ bad?" He turns to the man. "Am I okay?"

"Do you feel okay?"

Denis lets out a raspy little laugh. "Fuck, _no_. I feel like shit. Like my entire body just got pounded by a meat tenderizer and then sautéed in a frying pan." He laughs again, masking a little groan. "But you know what? I'm alive. And so is my best friend. And that feels so fucking fantastic."

Jon reaches over and squeezes his hand. "Denis, I'm -"

"If you're going to apologize, save it." Denis mutters, shaking Jon's hand away. "You could not have expected a giant fireball to head straight for us. That was just - that was just _fucking absurd_."

"Agreed." the man says suddenly. "But then again, everything about this entire _regime_ is absurd."

Denis winces when the man pours water over his burns. "So you're one of the Chicago people, huh?" he asks, biting his lip.

"That's right."

"Funny. The guys at the market told me there'd be more of you."

"There _were_ more of us." the man says matter-of-factly. "But we got intercepted on the way here."

"Trackers?" Jon asks.

The man nods solemnly. "They ambushed us near the woods and then set the place on fire." He took out several pieces of gauze from his knapsack and applied it over Denis's burns. "They weren't even looking to collect anyone. Just started shooting right off the bat."

Denis grunts. "That can't be good." he mumbles, mostly to himself. "So they didn't want any liberal Dregs?"

"Apparently not."

Denis swears and turns to Jon. "You still remember that time in Brooklyn?"

Jon freezes.

Of course he does.

***

_"Folks, folks. Let me tell you... this idea is just... just one of the best ideas ever. In the history of our country. The best ever. The very best idea. Believe me."_

_It was a Thursday afternoon. Jon and Denis were watching Fox News in Jon's old apartment. They were eating a shit load of popcorn and drinking way too much beer._

_And Donald Trump was saying stupid things on TV._

_Again._

_"My son... and you know that my son is one smart cookie... and I'm not just saying that because he's my son... but you know, he's gotta get it from somebody. Right? Am I right? I mean, he's named after me. So who else would he take after? Huh? His mother? Let's be honest, his mother was... back in the day... she was pretty hot... like super hot folks... I mean... wow... I always got the hot ones... but was she smart? Was she smart enough to make as much money as I have? Because I have a lot of money, folks... I tell you, I am so rich... You will not believe... you won't believe just how rich I am... I have so much money that even I don't know what to do with it all-"_

_"Oh get to the fucking point already." Jon hollered, throwing popcorn at the TV. Denis shushed him._

_"We were having a busy day over at the White House... a really busy day... you just won't believe how busy... and Don Jr. comes to me and says... he says to me... 'Hey dad, you know what? We really need to find a solution to this problem with the Left.'"_

_Jon's eyes narrowed. "Problem with the Le-"_

_"Shh!" Denis hissed, smacking his arm. "Now is not the time for social commentary."_

_"As you all know... those liberals and the mainstream media... the Fake News media, as I like to call them... have been spewing out lie after lie AFTER LIE about me and my presidency-"_

_Autocracy, Jon corrected in his head._

_"- and those lies that they feed about me and the Russians... about me colluding with them to rig our elections... our sacred elections... the pillars of our democracy-"_

_"Autocracy." Jon said out loud, granting another annoyed hiss from Denis._

_"-when everyone knows that the REAL traitors of this country... are those people... in the left... and all the news outlets that support their toxic, disgusting way of thinking. The kind of thinking that gets rapists from Mexico, terrorists from the Middle-East, drug dealers from the Philippines... into our great... great country. Taking our jobs. Jeopardizing the safety of our children. The kind of thinking that puts real, USA born and raised Americans last. The kind of thinking that the Dems use to hurt our country. Our country... that I have - and I can say this with absolute surety - made great again."_

_The crowd in front of Trump cheered, loud and triumphant._

_Jon and Denis kept watching in horrified silence._

_"Now folks, I've been really nice about all their criticism. And hey, maybe I've said some mean... but true, very true... absolutely true things...." Trump lifted his chin up and sneered. "... what can I say? You fight me, I fight back ten times as hard. Ten times. Maybe even twenty, if I feel like it. That's just how I am. I'm a fighter... I was in WWE a couple times... punched the lights out of those losers..."_

_"He knows that pro-wrestling is fake, right?" Denis muttered, grabbing a fistful of popcorn from Jon's bowl and stuffing it into his mouth._

_"Denis, he doesn't even know that his TAN is fake." Jon quipped. "And the guy is the color of a fucking orangutan."_

_Trump babbled on. "With that said, ladies and gentlemen...My supporters... the real citizens of America... my people... it's time we put an end to this liberal agenda once and for all... it's time for them... to be silenced. To learn their lesson. To know that the real America has no time for political correctness. It only... has time... for greatness."_

_"Here it comes." Denis muttered._

_The curtain behind Trump fell open, and the crowd went absolutely wild. Many of them suddenly rose up from their seats, each clapping furiously like Charles Foster Kane, cheering and hooting with such gusto._

_The camera panned out to reveal a giant concept drawing of the Mexican Border Wall._

_"He's still serious about that?" Jon exclaimed, rubbing his temples furiously. God, his head hurt. "Seriously? This is his big announcement? His stupid border wall idea?"_

_"Is Mexico really gonna pay for that crap?"_

_"Of course not. Trump just thinks he can make them pay." Jon exhaled loudly. "Where is he even gonna get the money? And who is actually stupid enough to work on that thing? It's insane. This guy just gets crazier and crazier every fucking -"_

_"Liberals!" Trump shouted into the microphone, almost making Jon flinch. He was pretty sure he saw spit flying out of Trump's mouth somewhere. "Ladies and gentlemen. Liberals are going to make our dreams of having a big...sturdy...beautiful wall... a reality."_

_"What the fuck?" Jon and Denis said in unison. They exchanged uneasy glances._

_"You heard me right, folks. The liberals... are gonna build this wall for us." Trump stared straight into the camera, looking decidedly smug, as if he could see Jon's reaction through the screen. "They have been wrecking this country for years with their leftist propaganda. Taking away our country... from those who rightfully own it. It's time for us to stand up... stand up and take back what's rightfully ours."_

_"You don't fucking own America you megalomaniac orange Cheeto!" Jon yelled at the TV, his cheeks turning into a dark, angry red._

_"With the help of my son... Donald Trump Jr., and some very... very smart, talented people..." ("Russians." Jon coughed.) "... we are introducing a new branch of law enforcement that I personally named, folks... I came up with this name... perfect name... called The Tracker Program." He paused and chuckled, utterly pleased with himself. "I'm announcing this myself because... this is such a brilliant idea that I came up with. Why would I let someone else take credit for it, right?"_

_The crowd cheered again._

_"My head hurts." Denis said. "If it keeps going like this, I'm gonna jump out of your window."_

_Jon's phone started ringing just as Trump was getting ready to speak again. Jon reached across the table to answer it, but when he saw the caller ID, he frowned._

_"Aren't you gonna answer that?" Denis said, eyeing him curiously. Jon's phone kept flashing in his hand. "He's been calling you all day, Jon."_

_Jon looked at Denis then back to his phone. As he stared at the screen and the name that was flashed across it, he felt anger starting to rise up inside him again - deep and dark and bitter. It was the type of fury that went beyond what he felt for Trump and his supporters. The kind that's been seething in his gut for years, nurtured by his dead father, growing steadily inside him with each passing day. It was the kind that kept him up at night. Scared him. Controlled him. Haunted him._

_It was the kind of anger that he swore he'd never unleash to the world._

_At least, not at that moment._

_"No." Jon sighed, fingers quivering as he hit decline. "No, I don't want to talk to him right now."_

_Denis shrugged. "Suit yourself. It's your life after all. But I'm just saying, you know. Cut the guy some slack."_

_Jon tightened his jaw but said nothing. He turned back to the TV and chugged down his beer in one gulp, ignoring the persistent buzzing of his phone and the exasperated way Denis sighed beside him._

_"There's been a lot of ugly, hateful protests going on all across our country." Trump continued, doing his best to look serious. "Protests against me, mostly. The President of the United States. The one you all voted for. ("No we didn't." Jon muttered.) And these protests, folks... they're really sick. The people who participate in them... they're sick. My son... my son Barron is frightened every time he opens the news... because he thinks his old man got shot by the protestors. Shot. Stabbed. Hanged. Can you believe it? He's scared folks, real scared.... And these people... these terrorists... they don't care. They love it. They want me dead so they can put some nasty guy like Obama... or Hillary... or Bernie... in my place... so they can go back... to ruining out great country. So they can abuse us... and take advantage of us. So they can forward their sick... nasty agendas. We... the silent majority... are bullied... and insulted... and lied about... day after day after day for so many... many years. But you know what I say to that, folks? I say........ enough is enough."_

_Trump looked sternly into the camera, soaking up the sound of the crowd's roaring applause that grew louder and louder, each one of them chanting "Enough! Enough! Enough!" like it was some strange, liberating gospel. When the chanting died down, Trump grinned like the devil and spoke again:_

_"The Tracker Program is designed to train willing participants... between the ages of 16 to 50... in various forms of combat. And by combat, folks, we mean like shooting and fighting and all that real... real great stuff. Their main purpose? To track down and capture... the ENEMIES who have infiltrated our country. Enemies like the left wing nutjobs who brainwash our kids...Enemies like the illegal immigrants taking freebies and handouts like it's theirs to take... Enemies like the radical Islams who want to blow us up... Enemies like the biased mainstream media. Basically... anyone who dares to go against my right to govern as your President. Anybody... who ever did me wrong... is gonna regret... disrespecting me. Anyone... who said mean, untrue things about me... are finally gonna be punished. All of them will be hunted down... arrested... and sent to Build. Our. Wall."_

_Jon stared as the TV zoomed in on the audience's reactions. They had their hands raised up in the air and had begun chanting "Trump! Trump! Trump!" with an intense, almost fanatical look in their eyes. He felt the color drain from his face._

_"Is this actually fucking happening?" he heard Denis gasp. "Is this. Actually. Fucking. Happening."_

_Jon could only blink._

_"That's like fucking slavery, isn't it?" Denis was looking at him now, thoroughly shaken. "Is he suggesting slavery? Jon? Jesus fucking Christ, the one time I actually ask you for your commentary and you go fucking mute on me."_

_Jon grabbed his phone and stood up from the couch. His legs were shaking "I... I need a breather." he said, walking off into the kitchen before Denis could even respond._

_When he was sure he was out of earshot, Jon leaned against the kitchen counter and opened his phone._

_17 missed calls and one text._

 

> **Stephen**  
>  I know you're still mad but you have to pick up. Please. I'm sorry.

_He's sorry._

_Jon shuffled towards one of the kitchen chairs and sat down, face buried in his hands. He tossed his phone onto the counter - who gives a damn how much that thing cost - and tried to ignore the way his heart was pounding in his chest. When he felt hot tears start to sting his eyes, he quickly blinked them away._

_"It's not that easy, Stephen." he murmured out loud, swiping his hands up into his hair, tugging forcefully at the greying strands. "You can't just -"_

_His phone buzzed against the kitchen counter. Jon closed his eyes and took a deep breath._

_"No." he exhaled. "No, I do not forgive you."_

_He stared blankly at the ceiling, arms crossed stubbornly over his chest, and waited for the call to end. When the buzzing came to a halt, he reached for his phone and glanced at the screen._

_18 missed calls._

_He kept telling himself that he did the right thing while he waited for the next call to come._

_But his phone never rang again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHYYY DO I WRITE SO SLOOOOOW
> 
> okay, okay. this chapter got even LONGER y'all. so now it's gonna three parts. at least, I HOPE it'll be three parts. fingers crossed that i don't overwrite it next time. lmao.
> 
> PS. i forced myself to watch 2 hours worth of DJT speeches, and YES, before you ask, it was absolutely excruciating. -10/10 most definitely would not recommend to anyone
> 
> PPS. thank you for all your kind comments even though i know i am not worthy of them lmao


	4. Sorrow, Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long overdue, but uh, I just want to say for the record that this is a work of fanfiction, and in no way whatsoever am I implying that any of this is real. So um... please don't sue me? lmao.

The three of them manage to reach the woods before the pain in Jon’s leg gets too much for him to bear, and they’re forced to stop near a small ravine.

“I could probably get a signal from here.” the masked man says as they set Denis down by a tree. He looks up at the sky and then quickly starts rummaging through his backpack. “I just need to get the radio working first, and then I could climb up the ravine and up that tree and…”

Jon slumps down next to Denis, hissing when his leg keeps throbbing like hell. _Ah, fuck. Fuck. FUCK. It HURTS._

The masked man had told him it wasn’t broken, just badly sprained – but after that long, agonizing walk dragging Denis through rock and dirt, he can’t help but wonder if he had unknowingly crippled himself in the process.

Beside him, Denis stirs and mumbles something incoherent.

“What’s that?” Jon asks, nudging him gently by the shoulders.  “Denis. Hey. _Denis._ Are you okay?”

Denis only grunts in reply.

“You have to be more specific.” Jon murmurs. “My caveman is a little rough.”

At that, Denis’s mouth quirks up by a fraction. He turns to look at Jon, eyes opening slightly, and flashes him a weakened version of his signature Denis Leary grin.

“I said, ‘ _Thank you for saving me, Jon.’”_

The smile quickly fades from Jon’s face. “I didn’t save you, Denis.” he says grimly. “ _You_ saved _me_.”

Silence.

“But you didn’t leave me.” Denis whispers, wincing as he tries to sit up. His skin was all mottled and red, and blisters were starting to pop out around his arms and neck – but his eyes were still as sharp as ever. “I know I talked like a big guy back there, with my whole  ‘ _just leave me here to die, save yourself_ ’ monologue crap. But I’m actually glad you didn’t leave me. _Relieved,_ to be perfectly honest. And thankful.”

“I don’t see why I should be thanked –”

“You brought me with you. You risked your own safety. Carried me even when your leg hurts like a bitch, which I know it does, by the way, I can tell.” He points to his own broken legs and sighs. “In my book, Jon, that counts as saving me. And it deserves a thanks.”

“Denis, you could have been threatening to stab me with a butcher’s knife and I still wouldn’t leave you.”

“I know.”

“Besides, it was my fault you got –”

Denis groans.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Jon, seriously. For the billionth time, _quit_ _apologizing_.”

“Well, it’s _true_ –“

“Listen, I don’t have the energy to argue with you. Actually, you know what, I never did. You’re like a fucking fireball when you’re angry, and I can’t compete.” When Jon tries to speak, Denis waves him off with a tired flick of his hand. “See what I mean? You’re always so keyed-up. It’s insane.”

“You saved me more times than I can count.” Jon says, ignoring the way Denis rolls his eyes. “I owe you my life, Denis. And look at how I repay you.”

“These,” Denis gestures to his injuries. “are not your fault. And you know it.”

Jon doesn’t; but he nods his head anyway, and Denis slumps back against the tree, temporarily appeased.

*** 

_“You don’t have to decide now.” Stephen had said. “Go ahead and think it through for a while. Take all the time you need. It’s okay.”_

_“Okay?” Jon croaked, half crying and half laughing; grasping desperately at the hem of Stephen’s shirt. “You do know what you’re asking me to do, right?”_

_Jon felt rather than saw Stephen’s nod, chest vibrating as he hummed in affirmation. As had become habit, Jon nuzzled closer against him._

_“You love me.” Jon said. It’s a statement rather than a question, and just having the ability to say it that way sent his nerves on a frenzy._

_“I do.”_

_“I–”_

_“Don’t say it.” Stephen murmured, rubbing slow circles down Jon’s back. “Not until you’re absolutely ready. Not unless you’re absolutely sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that you do.”_

_Without a shadow of a doubt._

_Jon nodded and lifted his face up to kiss Stephen’s cheek. Warm, soft. His. “Thank you.”_

_“When you make up your mind,” Stephen whispered, lips grazing the skin behind Jon’s ear. “Text me. And I’ll meet you. Wherever you want, whatever time you decide. I promise to be there.”_

_Jon pressed his ear against Stephen’s chest and listened to the steady drumming of his heart beneath the cotton of his shirt. And for a while, Jon found himself feeling absolutely content._

_He loves me._

***

Jon and Denis watch in silence as the masked man makes his way up the ravine, surprisingly nimble despite recent events. Behind him, his backpack rustles with the weight of its contents. Masks. First aid kits. A radio. _What else did he have with him?_ Jon wonders. Devoid of anything else to do, he starts listing down the possible equipment in his head.

 _Weapons_ , Jon thinks. _Maybe something like a gun. Or knives. A taser? Probably. Pepper spray? Most likely. What about clothes? Does he have anything else besides that hoodie? If so, where does he keep it? The backpack is large; but still, it can’t fit anything else besides –_

“I don’t want to die, Jon.” Denis suddenly whispers beside him, snapping Jon out of his reverie. The air around them is cold, and it makes his voice crack.

“Denis–”

“I _really, really_ don’t want to die.” Denis turns to him with a sad smirk on his face, complacent in a way that unnerves Jon. “And as much as I wanna say something heroic and cool about how I don’t want to leave you, or that I don’t fear death because it’s a natural part of life – I _can’t_. I can’t because it’s a lie.” He exhales sharply and stares out into the darkness. “Because the truth is, Jon, I’m scared. I’m actually really fucking scared about dying. I don’t want to die. I want to _live_.”

“You’re not gonna die, Denis.” Jon says, sounding more assured than how he actually feels. “You are _not_ gonna die. I won’t let that happen.”

Denis is quiet – quieter than he had ever been in his life. And Jon, unable to come up anything constructive, looks down at the ground and starts drawing circles in the dirt.

A quiet Denis is not a Denis he was used to, and quite frankly, he doesn’t know how to be around that particular iteration.

“You’re going to be okay, though, won’t you?” Denis says after a long pause. “I mean, you know – if ever I, um… don’t make it out of this… alive.” His eyes flicker to meet Jon’s, slightly fretful and glazed over by exhaustion. “If ever I die… I… I just need to know that you’re going to be okay.”

Jon hauls a handful of dried leaves. “I’ll be –” he pauses, clenching his hand as he grapples for the right words. What will he be when – _if_ – Denis dies? Just the thought of it seems entirely wrong.

“I’m not going to shut down again, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

A beat passes before Denis sighs like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. “Okay. Good. Because last time was pretty scary, Jon, I have to admit.”

Jon’s jaw tightens. “Last time was different.”

“I know that.”

Denis raises one eyebrow at him and Jon scoffs. He can almost _taste_ his own bitterness.

“You’re allowed to mourn me for a whole three days.” Denis continues. “Three days, my friend, and that’s it. Afterwards, I expect you to get on with your life. Move on. Keep surviving somehow. And when all this is over, you can write a nice, long book about it and you tell them how Denis Leary was a crappy comedian but a fucking amazing friend. It’ll fly right off the shelves. A number one bestseller. Trust me on this.”

“You _are_ a crappy comedian.” Jon agrees, trying to laugh. It comes out more like a wheeze. “This is not something to joke about.”

Denis waves him off. “Just trying to lighten the mood.” He says with a sigh. “But I’m not joking about the book thing.”

Jon bites his lip.

“A little chapter dedicated to me. That… that sounds kind of nice.”

“Denis –”

“Tell Ann I love her, okay? You know. When you make it out? The kids too. Tell them I really tried and –”

Jon shakes his head and places his hand on Denis’s shoulder, looking determinedly at him.

“Denis, you fucking _stay alive_ and tell them that yourself.”

*** 

_It was on a Tuesday morning, exactly three weeks Before, when Jon decided to tell Stephen he loved him._

_In retrospect, he should have at least made the effort to prepare something. A statement. A speech. Some form of an explanation. Not counting the already shitty one he had stuck in his head, of course:_

_“I love you and I decided I want to be with you.”_

_He recited that one to his reflection while he shaved. Over and over again like a mantra. And a couple times more when he ate breakfast in the kitchen – whispered in-between chews, the ends of his words punctuated by the crunching of Cheerios in his mouth._

_“Daddy, here’s your newspaper.”_

_Jon stopped eating and smiled. He lifted Maggie up from the floor and set her down on his lap while she giggled. Dutifully, as she had always done every morning for breakfast, Maggie spread the newspaper across the table and opened it to the page with the crossword._

_“Wait, don’t start yet!” came Nate’s voice. His sneakers squeaked as he ran from out of the dining room and back again. “I have to time you!”_

_“Slow down, Nathan.” Tracey scolded him. She hovered by the sink, trying very hard to sound stern, but couldn’t quite hide the smile carefully balanced on her lips. When her eyes caught Jon’s, they lit up almost instantly._

_God. I am such a fucking asshole, Jon thought._

_“Okay!” Nate announced, settling himself on the chair next to his father. The stopwatch glinted in his hands. “Ready when you are, old man.”_

_As Nate grew older, Jon had learned: He inherited most of his snark, but got Tracey’s eyes._

_“All right.” Jon took the pen Maggie was offering and kissed the top of her head as a thank you. She giggled again. “I’m ready.” He popped the lid off to meet Nate’s taunting stare, lip twitching with what he knows is absolute fondness and overwhelming affection. Then, in his best impression of what he thinks is an Italian mobster, he says:_

_“Time me, pipsqueak.”_

_According to Nate, it took him six minutes and 43 seconds to finish the entire crossword – a new all time best – surpassing his previous record of six minutes and 48 seconds._

_“Not bad, oldie.”_

_Jon laughed and ruffled his son’s hair. Thick, dark. Just like his had once been. “Are you trying to tell me something here?”_

_“You’re old.” said Nate, grinning. “But I love you, dad.”_

_Before Jon could say anything, Nate was already bolting out the door with a bag of bread crumbs in his hands. Maggie ran on after him, but not before asking Jon for another kiss._

_“You shaved, Daddy.” she said, rubbing her hands on his jaw. Assessing. “Your kisses don’t feel like punishment, anymore. I like it.” She patted his cheek once, and then was out the door too._

_Jon watched from the window as his children ran across the field and towards their small pond. Nate was digging through the bag of crumbs he brought, hauling out handfuls to Maggie’s open, waiting palms. He could hear their delighted laughter as some of it spilled to the ground._

_“Whoops!” he heard Maggie exclaim. She and Nate dragged their shoes across the grass, laughing and giggling furiously. “What a mess!”_

_Jon tore his gaze away, opened his cellphone, and sent a text.  Within seconds, he already got a reply._

_"See you in a bit.” it said._

_What a mess indeed._

***

“It wasn’t your fault.” Denis says after a long, extended silence. There’s a certain firmness to his voice that Jon feels is entirely misplaced. “I know you don’t believe me. But that’s the truth.”

“Okay.”

“Jon. I hate it when you do this.”

“Do what?”

“ _Take the blame_. Beating yourself up with the guilt of things that aren’t your fault.” Denis heaves out a sigh. “Stop blaming yourself. _It wasn’t your fault_. Stephen –”

_“Don’t.”_

Jon is trembling now, fists clenched so tight his nails are breaking through the skin on his palms. He tries to focus on keeping his breathing even – in-out-in-out- _that’sit –_ but the second he feels a hand squeezing his shoulders, he shudders.

“Jon,” Denis says gently.  “it’s been six months.”

_Six months. Two weeks. Four days. Nine hours. Twelve minutes. Sixteen seconds – but who’s counting?_

“I know it sucks, but you can’t keep running away from it. You have to face it one of these –”

“Please, Denis.” His voice sounds high and creaky and desperate. “Please. _Don’t_.”

“Okay, okay." Denis withdraws his hand. "I’m sorry. We won’t talk about it anymore.”

Jon nods frantically. _Thank you_ , he wants to say, but he’s too choked up and it comes out like a sob.

“Are you okay?” Denis asks, as if Jon’s the one with the broken bones and the burns all over his body. “Do you need your inhaler?”

Jon shakes his head. “N– no. Just – just t– talk about s– something else.”

“Okay, like what? What do you want to talk about, Jon?”

“A–anything.” Jon croaks. “Anything else.” _Just please get him out of my head._

Denis nods weakly. “Anything.” he repeats. “Okay, give me a sec.”

Jon leans back against the trunk of the tree, crosses his arms over his chest, and waits. The chilly night breeze makes him shudder, and far off over the canopies, he could still see the glow of the fire that had engulfed the town of Bisbee. 

Next to him, Denis is vehemently cursing Donald Trump. He’s ranting passionately, throwing in a random Irish cuss here and there; nose flared in disgust. If he's able to move his body, he probably would've flailed his hands all over the place.

Soon enough, Jon finds that the chaos of his thoughts are completely drowned out by Denis’s voice, talking incessantly about the one thing in this world neither of them give two fucks about.

*** 

_Jon kissed Tracey on the lips and held her as tight as he could, knowing that it would be the last time he’d be able to do so._

_She was a couple inches shorter than him, her body much curvier and softer than the angular, taller one he had grown used to. He almost forgot what it felt like to be the taller one in a relationship, and admittedly, he was going to miss this. A lot. So he hugged her even tighter._

_Tracey laughed, seemingly amused by his antics, and playfully poked his nose when he pulled away._

_“You’re hugging me like you’re going to war and never coming back.”_

_Jon couldn’t even manage to fake a smile._

_“I’m meeting Stephen.” he said simply, hoping his voice didn’t tremble._

_“Again?”_

_“Again.”_

_“You always meet Stephen.” Tracey teased, pinching the tip of his nose. “Sometimes I think he wants you all to himself.”_

_Jon huffed. “Something like that.”_

_“Well tell him to share you once in a while. He can’t just keep hogging you like this.” She laughed as she planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “You’re mine too, you know.”_

_“I know.”_

_Tracey kissed him again, deeper and hungier than the last, and for a few seconds, he remembered why he asked her to marry him in the first place._

_“See you later, hon.” she murmured, pecking his lips one more time. “I love you.”_

_“I–”_

_Don’t say it, came Stephen’s voice in his head. Don’t say it unless you’re absolutely sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that you do._

_Jon swallowed uneasily and settled for a kiss to his wife’s cheek. He wondered if she felt the change inside him when he did. Tracey was always much smarter than him._

_“I’ll see you later, hon.” he said, and without waiting to see the perplexed look on her face, he was already out the door._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> great news, y'all. i'm not dead lmao. 
> 
> also i apologize if this bit got waaaay too angsty
> 
> at the risk of revealing too much personal information, i recently got accepted into med school (UNEXPECTEDLY), so as you can imagine, i had to do a lot of last minute hustling to get all the papers needed for my enrollment. but that's done now. woo hoo. *confetti everywhere* i feel like john oliver after a long break lmao
> 
> but over my hiatus period, i've written a LOT of stuff, so expect me to update very soon (after extensive proof reading, of course)
> 
> as always, thank you for your kind comments. i'm sorry if i flinch away from them (i like to channel my inner jon in that regard) but seriously. thank you to anyone who bothers reading this lmao cheers


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